A Safe-Deposit Box
by Feagalad
Summary: Having lurked about this fandom for years, I have decided that it is finally time to get up off my derriere and actually write something for it. Here I have created a place where I can safely deposit ideas - oneshots that might grow to become longer fics, if people are interested - as I wet my fingertips in writing these characters.
1. Merlin's First Day At Work

**Author's Note:** I am trying to get my head around the characters from our beloved show, especially our pratty prince as he is surprisingly hard to write.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own - never have & probably never will. I do, however, have a rather lovely stuffed fox so if you plan to sue that's all you'd get.

* * *

"Morning, Sire!" Merlin chirped as he flung open the curtains, letting the bright Camelot sunshine flood the dark room. He had resolved to be as cheerful as possible about his rather unwanted promotion, for Merlin knew that a constant grin in the face of Arthur's antagonism would be more effective than all of the death glares he could muster up. After all – it is always more galling when a person refuses to be upset by your taunts, leaving you to feel like a major ass. So, with that in mind and with a smile as brilliant as the morning light, Merlin approached the four-poster bed and spoke again in a loud tone of voice, face a bit closer to Arthur's ear than was strictly necessary. "Time to get up, your Highness."

"Go away." Prince Arthur's growl was rather muffled by his feather pillows as he tried to burrow deeper into his warm cocoon of bedding in a vain attempt to block out both the light and his manservant's annoying voice.

Merlin rolled his eyes at the prince's response. It would seem that Arthur Pendragon was not a morning person. Clearly he had never had to rise before the cock's crow to try and save his crops from a late frost. What a pampered prat! "You must get up." Merlin said, feeling his patience already slipping away. The only answer was a noncommittal grunt from the prince. That did it – enough was enough, and Merlin had had enough. He had no desire to have Arthur's tardiness blamed on his incompetence. So he reached out and firmly gripped the thick brocade coverlet, yanking it away from the still-trying-to-slumber prince with one, unusually graceful move.

_"MERLIN!"_ Arthur sat up like a shot and fixed Merlin with a quelling glare. "How dare you lay a hand on the royal person!"

Merlin was not fazed – so Arthur was going to pull the 'noble snobbery' card, was he? Well – time to employ the 'dogged cheerfulness' move, then. "I didn't, sire, I took your covers. Although," He continued thoughtfully, "even if I did – why would that be so terrible for you? If I'm going to have to help you dress – " Here he gave a theatrical shudder of disgust " – then I'll have to make contact with your royal person at some point, whether I want to or not."

"I could have you in the stocks for that offence." Arthur threatened, still making no move to get out of his now-cooling sanctuary. How _dare_ this peasant suggest that it was anything but an honour to serve in the royal house? Most people would be willing to kill for a position such as this boy had obtained with one lucky move. Was he really so cocky that he considered himself above his station and therefore more deserving of favours?

Merlin shrugged at the threat. "Been there, done that, nothing much to see." He said nonchalantly. "You can actually make a pretty good game out of it. Do you know I managed to dodge over half of the foul projectiles sent my way? That should be some sort of record."

Arthur stared at the rambling manservant who was now clumsily trying to open his wardrobe. Should he help the hopeless boy out and clue him in that the knobs had to be turned before tugging on the door, or should he do that underdeveloped brain a favour and let Merlin figure it out?

* * *

**TBC...**


	2. What The Others Thought

**Author's Note:** This one is extremely raw and relies heavily on OC's...so I would appreciate all of the nitpicking you lovely people can give. No, really I would.

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Margaret frowned as she examined the cold ham intently, debating the best way to slice it. All around her the still half-asleep cooking staff murmured quietly as they prepared the food that the personal staff would soon be arriving to deliver to their respective masters. Even though it was early in the morning, and still quite chilly outside, the air of the kitchens was already warm and humid as the kettles of breakfast porridge steamed and bubbled over the fire. Margaret could see that Sif, a fellow kitchen maid, had already set a bowl aside and was liberally dusting it with nutmeg, cinnamon, and sugar for Prince Arthur's breakfast. Some of the ham Margaret herself was slicing would also be sent up to the young prince, probably along with some sweetened wine. Any minute now Bern, the Prince's manservant, would dart into the kitchens to collect said porridge and meat for his master and Margaret would be able to tease Sif about the brilliant blush that would undoubtedly accompany the appearance of that particular servant. Sif _would_ blush and dissemble and Bern would pretend to be oblivious to it all, merely giving her a coy wink as he slipped out of the kitchen with his load. It was an almost daily source of amusement for Margaret as she waited alongside her friend for Bern to finally work up the courage to propose. But he was so busy running around after Camelot's future king that he rarely had time to do much more than smile, or whisper a single sweet nothing, to Sif.

Sometimes Margaret would wish that she were royalty and could lie abed and wake to a fine meal that she neither had to prepare, nor clean up. She would dream of fine dresses of silk and velvet and servants to do her cleaning and work for her. But then she'd take a bite of her own coarse, plain bread and be brought back to earth with a bump to realize that she was just a servant, probably always would be, and that was all she or any of her fellow workers should ever aspire to be. People shouldn't quit their spheres, after all.

"_AUGH_!"

Everyone in the kitchen jumped as a bundle of red and brown cloth tumbled head over heels down the scullery steps and landed in a tangled heap of long limbs and scruffy black hair in the doorway.

"Blasted stairs." The bundle muttered and clambered to its feet, brushing itself off gingerly.

Margaret winced – both at that fall and at the fact that Constance, the rather rotund and formidable head cook, was bearing down on this hapless newcomer.

"What do you want?" Constance demanded, meaty fists firmly planted on her hips.

The newcomer finished dusting himself off and sent a wide, beaming grin Constance's way. "Hullo." He piped cheerfully. "I'm – uh – here for the prince's breakfast?"

Margaret flicked her eyes to Sif and then back to this stranger. Was Bern ill? Was that why Sif had showed up with red eyes this morning? She felt a stab of pain for her friend if the sweet Bern was indeed ailing. He was one of the few servants that Constance actually liked and apparently this newcomer's smile did not succeed in charming Constance, for she peered intently at this intruder to her realm and took a menacing step forward. "Who _are_ you?"

"Oh, uh," The boy seemed to realize that he hadn't introduced himself and looked sheepish. "I'm Merlin, ma'am." He said, squirming slightly under her critical gaze. "I'm Prince Arthur's new manservant."

Oh my. Margaret cast a longer look at Sif, who did not look at all surprised at this new development. What had happened to Bern? She studied this Merlin intently. He looked somehow familiar…

Constance harrumphed and turned her back from him. "Just keep your filthy fingers out of my food." She said and went to check on the kitchen boys who were slicing wedges from an enormous cheese to make sure they weren't snitching any.

Margaret watched Merlin as he grimaced at the cook's retreating back and made his way into the crowded, steamy kitchen – snagging a clean plate from one of the freshly washed stacks. He puttered around the room, selecting things for his master's breakfast in a way so like Bern that Margaret couldn't bear to watch any more, so she bent her head over her work.

* * *

**TBC...**


	3. The Origin of the Insult

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"Merlin, you dunce! Are you incapable of doing _anything_ right?" Said manservant huffed and rolled his eyes in irritation as Arthur, Prince of Camelot, ranted on at him. "I can't believe how incompetent you are – I'd be half tempted to suspect that you do it on purpose if you actually had the brains for such a ruse. Were you born this addled or were you dropped on your head as a baby?" Now bored by this already familiar assault on his intelligence, Merlin clumsily adjusted his slipping grip on the shield, causing it to clatter noisily to the ground and set Arthur off again. "You are the worst servant I've ever had! Just how hard is it to hold a shield upright?"

Merlin had had enough – his toe, where the shield had first landed, was throbbing painfully and only added to his mounting irritation. "You would find, _sire,_ that it is rather difficult when a certain prince is throwing all of his considerable weight into his swings."

There was a long beat where Sir Bedivere's muffled snicker/cough sounded out unnaturally loud and clear. Then:

"Did you just call me fat?"

* * *

**TBC...**


	4. In Which Arthur Is Embarrassed

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"Merlin, if my trousers _ever_ descend in a Council Meeting again – don't help me!"

Merlin hid a grin. "So if it happens in the square…" He dodged the damp sock Arthur pelted at him.

"It won't." Arthur said flatly, face an interesting shade of puce. "And even if it does, I am King of Camelot – I can pull my own trousers up, thank you very much"

"I don't know about that." Merlin muttered, but was ignored by Arthur who was now getting into full rant mode.

"…Never should a King be humiliated before the nobility. They must think I'm an absolute infant! What possessed you to run in like that anyways?"

"Well, _sire_." Merlin waffled, picking up the offending pair of trousers and flinging them, along with the dirty socks, into the laundry basket. "I didn't want you to have to bend over and expose your blindingly white arse – royal though it may be – to the council."

Arthur's nostrils flared and a new level of scarlet flushed over his face at the ridiculousness of this whole thing. "_Mer_lin – _shut up._" The embarrassed and flummoxed king of Camelot stalked his wounded dignity over to his bed where he promptly snapped the curtains shut to block out his manservant's irritating grin.

"It's all right, Arthur!" Merlin called as a parting shot. "There was going to be a full moon tonight anyways."

* * *

**TBC...**


	5. A Glimpse Into Arthur's Mind

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* * *

Arthur let out a gusty sigh as his gabby new manservant finally left the room with his load of laundry. Peace at last!

Ever since that _idiot_ had blundered into his room this morning there had been a stream of chatter and snark non-stop. The prince had heard insults used this morning that he hadn't even known existed (he didn't make a point to keep up on country bumpkin lingo…what _was_ a muggle, anyway?) Merlin had a way of muttering them under his breath, just loud enough for Arthur to catch the gist of it, but not so loud that the peasant couldn't feign ignorance.

Now that Merlin was gone, maybe he could go do something with Kay. He hadn't wanted to leave Merlin alone in his chambers – who knew what pranks the insolent buffoon would attempt to set up in his absence – and so he had been trapped in here with Merlin's insufferable prattle all morning.

* * *

**TBC...**


	6. Because Uther Must Have Heard Whispers

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* * *

"You will tell me all you know about this prophecy." Uther said sternly, glaring down both Geoffrey and Liam from where he was seated on his throne.

Geoffrey, relatively unperturbed by Uther's dark tone, pushed Liam forward where the minstrel stood, looking rather like an owl in bright sunlight. He licked his lips nervously, but began to speak – weaving his tale with long-honed skill. "Your Majesty, the prophecy I spoke of was made ages ago – before the time of any man still alive today. Back when the earth was younger and the sky was bluer, the gift of foresight was gifted to one Faolan of Longfast, making him a prophet of the Most High. The prophecy revealed to him spoke of a glorious rise and a treacherous fall – it tells of a united Albion. A time when the five kingdoms will come together under one banner and shall thrive during an unparalleled reign of peace. There are three parts to the prophecy."

"Speak out then, sir." Uther's voice was still cold.

"The prophecies speak of the Once and Future King – the man who will unite all of Albion and will serve as High King. He will be born into a time of great turmoil, yet will usher in a new age of great peace and prosperity where all are given freedom, justice, and equality. Though many perils shall attempt to keep this king from his throne, he shall prevail through his nobility of heart and the protection of a guardian angel."

Despite himself, Uther was beginning to be interested. Arthur was far less restrained – leaning forward and listening intently. Merlin stifled the urge to send a gagging hex at the minstrel – and maybe turn Lord Geoffrey into a toad. By the end of this little session his cover would be blown, he just knew it. He nearly did send off the hex when he heard where Liam was going next.

"The one called Emrys is to be that angel. Protector, guider, and friend are all roles he shall fill in service of the Once and Future King. He is destined to strive from the shadows, content to serve and protect all the days of his life. Born with magic and wielding great power by thought alone, Emrys is destined to be an advisor to his king during the long-sought days of peace.

Emrys and the Once and Future King are said to be an enigma all their own. It has been written that 'one cannot hate that which makes it whole'. This is surely true for even as Emrys and his king are as different as day is from night, they are also said to be two sides of the same coin, brothers in all but blood, and bonded by a love greater than the sea itself. It is this love that will transcend not only social barriers, but also the chiseling years of time itself. This love will stand against the alliance of the Witch and the Druid who will be united in evil and will oppose the Once and Future King." Liam finished speaking and bowed low, waiting nervously for Uther's verdict.

* * *

**TBC...**


	7. The Lake Of Avalon Is Not For Dunking

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* * *

"Will he be alright, Gaius?" Merlin asked anxiously as they pulled off Arthur's chain mail and wrestled the prince's limp form into the bed. "He was underwater an awfully long time."

Gaius sighed – it was the fifth time Merlin had asked this, and they hadn't even been back for an hour. "Yes, Merlin." The physician said long-sufferingly. "You cleared out lungs in time. He'll recover nicely – the worst he'll catch is a nasty cold from being chilled and damp."

Merlin fidgeted a bit, peering closely at Arthur's still face for a moment before he collapsed into the prince's own chair with a soft moan. "My head aches." He complained, massaging his forehead with a wince. "No – scratch that – my whole body aches."

"Hmmm." Gaius retrieved a stool and went to sit beside his ward. "Has the ringing stopped yet?" He asked, cupping Merlin's chin gently and examining his eyes carefully for signs of a concussion.

"Aye, the ringing's gone. Everything's just throbbing now." Merlin slumped in his chair and wriggled away from his guardian. "I'll be fine, I'm just tired."

"I'll be the judge of that." Gaius said sternly, holding up one finger. "Now, I want you to follow this with your eyes." Merlin complied, nearly going cross-eyed as Gaius moved his hand to the right, to the left, and finally right in to the tip of Merlin's nose. He was amazed that the boy was recovering this fast from his near-deadly meeting with a wall and hoped that the progress was not due to adrenaline that would wear off leaving Merlin in worse shape than ever. "Well, your eyes are focusing well enough – considering everything." Gaius observed. "It would seem that your magic is healing you quite quickly." At least that's what he hoped was happening. Gaius refused to think about where Merlin would be right now if he didn't have magic and it seemed logical that this progress might be due to the boy's inborn ability.

* * *

**TBC...**


	8. In Which Uther Is Amazed

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* * *

"I leant against the door and the whole thing busted – I think it's rotted or eroded or something." Okay, so he had thrown himself against it before blasting it with magic – but he could hardly say that to Uther, could he? "Then I tore back to the tomb and got the jewel. Then, when I found Cedric – I mean Sigan – I, uh, er, _flung_ the jewel at him and he sort of was sucked back into it." Merlin ducked his head sheepishly as a completely flabbergasted Uther Pendragon stared at him.

"You did _what?_"

Merlin hoped desperately that his rather flimsy lie would hold – perhaps Uther was tired enough to accept it without too much questioning? "Flung the jewel at him, sire." The warlock blushed as the full ridiculousness of what he was saying hit him. "It was a rather spur of the moment thing." That lie certainly was.

"Remarkable." Uther turned to the rest of the court. "We have been saved by a blathering _idiot_."

* * *

**TBC...**


	9. Gwen Is Brilliant, Arthur Is Broody

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* * *

"You there, _stop_!"

Gwen, smart girl that she was, didn't even pause but simply ran for it. Sullivan moved as if to follow her, but hesitated as Arthur called out in a weary tone: "Let her go. Doubtlessly Morgana sent her to spy on me for some mischievous reason of her own. They're probably laughing at my disgrace even now." He didn't have to fake the annoyance at that thought, because it was true: Morgana would never let him hear the end of this.

He was half-afraid, though, that this little lie wouldn't hold under Sullivan's scrutiny. But, thankfully, the burly guard went back to his post and munched his bread without comment – apparently accepting Arthur's story at face value. (The barely friendly rivalry between the Prince and the King's Ward was well known in the castle.) Arthur hoped desperately that Guinevere would make it to Gaius in time. He didn't know what he would do if that idiot servant boy died – not only would it mean that all of his efforts had been for naught but his morning routine would seem rather…boring without the banter and insults. Besides, Arthur told himself, it would be a shame to have to train a new manservant. Now if only this sick, anxious feeling that was totally illogical for a prince to be feeling for the welfare of an insolent peasant would go away!

* * *

**TBC...**


	10. Lest You Incur The Wrath Of Hunith

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* * *

"You did _what_?" Hunith stared at her only son in horrified shock. "How could you be so foolish?"

"It's only Will, Mother." Merlin replied hotly. "It's not like he's going to tell anyone."

"Merlin – how many times have I told you that your…_gifts_ are your most precious secret, not to be revealed to anyone?" Hunith went back to scrubbing a pot with vigour. "And then you behave like a fool."

"Mother! Will has known for years and he never told anyone."

Hunith shook her head. "It matters little, Merlin. Even if Will has the best of intentions – which I am certain he does – the more people who know your secret the more danger you are in." Her face softened a little and she sat back on her heels. "I fear that Ealdor may be getting too small for you, my son."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing – it's nothing to worry about right now. Go and fetch some water for tonight."

* * *

**TBC...**


	11. Blame Anhora For Your Hangover

Arthur cracked open one eye and grimaced as the light lanced through his skull. "Uhhhn." He groaned, blinking groggily a few times to clear his head. As his eyes adjusted to the light, the red and blue blob that was hovering over him materialised into a very familiar figure. "Oh gods, I think I've died and gone to Hell." The crown prince muttered.

"Arthur!" The familiar figure piped happily, sending a fresh wave of pain through Arthur's throbbing head.

"Shut up, _Mer_lin."

Merlin was not obedient.

"It's about time you woke up, you lazy daisy!" He said, shoving at Arthur's shoulder impatiently. "I've been waiting for hours with no company other than the occasional gull – but even those were scared off by your tremendously loud snoring. Did you know that you can actually make the beach tremble?"

"I'll make you tremble if you don't be quiet." Arthur threatened, closing his eyes weakly and willing the headache-inducing voice of his manservant to go away.

"…and it's a good thing too because I think the tide is coming in and I'd hate to have to try and heave your ponderous, slumbering body back through the labyrinth and – "

"Wait – _what_?" Arthur sat up with a jerk and swallowed back the vertigo. "You're not carrying me anywhere…and I'm _not_ fat; why do you keep insisting that I am?"

Merlin gave his master a pitying look (the type that you give to a child trying to lie about eating the cake whenever the icing is smeared all over their mouth) and repeated himself slowly, as if talking to a halfwit. "The. Tide. Is. Coming. In. I don't know about you – but I really don't want that armour of yours to get all sopping wet. I'd have to clean off the rust and I hate to think what salt water would do to the chain mail. Besides, I'm thirsty."

Now that Merlin mentioned it, Arthur noticed that – in addition to having a regiment of cavalry exercising in his skull – his mouth also tasted rather like the rat stew that neckerchiefed idiot had tried to serve him. And he was thirsty. And he was hungry.

Testing his legs and determining that he probably could stand up without humiliating himself, Arthur managed to wobble to his feet and looked towards the labyrinth. "Think you can manage to find your way back through, Merlin?" He asked, too busy on controlling the black spots swimming in front of his eyes to even consider attempting to discern the correct path. Not that he'd admit that to Merlin, though.

"I don't think that will be a problem." Merlin said, striding past and looking depressingly energetic for a skinny kid who probably hadn't eaten in the past twelve hours. "See when I was back in Ealdor sometimes we would go and explore these caves. They're a regular maze if you don't know them well – and even the experts get lost sometimes. I remember one time – "

"Focus please, Merlin." Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily. At this rate they would starve to death before they ever made it back to the horses.

"Right, sorry." Merlin adjusted his beloved neckerchief. "What I was going to say was – the trick to navigating the caves was to always keep one arm against the wall. That way, no matter how long it took, you always will eventually find your way back out."

Arthur blinked. "I think – for once in your life – you may have managed to say something near intelligent, Merlin." He said. "C'mon, let's go."

* * *

**TBC...**


	12. Prince Pratdragon

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* * *

Merlin heaved a deep sigh and adjusted his grip on the final water bucket he was lugging from the castle well to Arthur's bathtub. It had been a long, _long _day. Arthur had been on a hunting excursion and, rather than gathering up a couple of his knights for company, had insisted on dragging Merlin away from his chores to stumble through the forest in search of poor, innocent pheasants that had never done any harm (and weren't even needed in the castle kitchens). While they were on this pointless trip they were attacked by bandits (What else is new?) and both master and servant had received quite a beating before Merlin had had a chance to work a bit of subtle magic to even the odds a bit. (In his defence, they had been jumped from behind.) But it still hadn't been a fair fight, given that those odds were easily 20/2. The bandits had finally gotten tired of knocking the two boys around (and Arthur had finally managed to get hold of his sword again) so they just grabbed the game bags and ran. At Arthur's insistence the two bruised would-be avengers had set chase, but were forced to give up the pursuit so that the prince could retrieve his manservant from the small cliff that had appeared out of nowhere.

Needless to say, once Arthur had established that Merlin was unhurt, he had immediately clouted 'that idiot' over the head and stalked off muttering numerous uncomplimentary indictments under his breath. It was obvious that he was not best pleased with his manservant and Merlin rubbed the back of his head in painful remembrance. That whack had hurt!

They had walked back to Camelot in stony silence, Arthur immediately retiring to his chambers and kicking Merlin out to prepare a hot bath for the prince to soak his injured pride in. Merlin scowled; Prince Pratdragon wasn't the only one who felt tired, hungry, and sore!

* * *

**TBC...**


	13. Merlin: The Trouble Magnet

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**Author's Note:** I don't normally write much whump but...uh...here you all go. Hopefully this can give someone their hurt!Merlin for the day. ;)

* * *

Merlin gasped as the guards grabbed him and forcibly bent him over. Two more guards restrained Gwaine as he leaped forward with a fierce roar of protest.

"Father!" Arthur made his own protest even as the guards gripped Merlin's shirt and tore it off.

There was an audible gasp from Gwen and several other members of the court as the still-healing damage to the manservant's thin back was revealed. Arthur felt sick as he noted that several of the scabs had cracked open and were bleeding. Alice's magic may have accelerated the healing process – but it hadn't completely erased the wounds themselves. Merlin was panting – sides heaving as he fought for breath. It was clear that the way he was bent over was painfully pulling at the tight, bruise-mottled skin of his back.

"Let him go!" Gwaine roared, struggling harshly against his restrainers and earning several harsh blows as a reward.

"Father, _please_!" Arthur tried again, stepping forward. Uther waved him back and frowned at Merlin.

"I see that you are healing fast, _boy_." He said coldly. "What prompted your captors to tend your wounds?"

"I don't know what you mean." Merlin gasped, wincing as the guards dropped him unceremoniously on the floor. He gingerly yanked his shirt down, trying to salvage some of his dignity.

"What did you tell them?" Uther demanded, glaring at the serving boy who was sprawled on the floor.

"Nothing." Merlin shot back, giving Uther a glare of his own.

That was clearly the wrong thing to do for the king actually grabbed Merlin by the shirtfront and roughly hauled him to his feet. Merlin bit his lip and tried to avoid letting the twinges of pain show on his face as he was dragged forward. "What did you tell them?" Uther snarled, getting entirely too close for Merlin's comfort.

"My lord, I must protest." Gaius now made his own plea urgently – and Merlin contemplated the possibility that the old man was _his_ guardian angel, especially when Uther's death glare shifted to the Court Physician who was significantly less cowed than the young warlock felt. "This is my ward and, at the moment, my patient. Please, I beg you, release him before there is further damage to his wounds."

Arthur was compelled to speak up. "Besides, Father, I witnessed the whole thing and I am of the opinion that M_er_lin is entirely too stupid to betray a nest of mice…much less all of Camelot." He stifled an inappropriate chuckle at the splutters from both Merlin and Gwaine at that comment. Insulting Merlin's intelligence was always a good way to make Uther ignore him.

True to form, Uther's lip curled and he let go of Merlin, letting the boy drop limply to the ground and scuttle away, clumsily clambering to his feet. Arthur resisted the urge to run over and help, knowing that such an action would not help anyone at this point.

His attention diverted from the 'hapless idiot', Uther now stared closely at the still fuming Gwaine, eyes narrowing in recognition. "And what would you be doing back here?" He demanded at the longhaired drunkard.

"He saved our lives, Father." Arthur cut in before Gwaine could say something stupid. "He's the one who single-handedly rescued my servant and myself from the slavers, then tended to our wounds." He figured that buttering up Gwaine's reputation couldn't hurt.

Then again…

"So you expect me to believe that _you_ killed all of the slavers?" Uther almost sneered at Gwaine who snarled a rather colourful explicative under his breath and tried to jerk away from the guards yet again.

* * *

**TBC...**


	14. Just A Typical Morning

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* * *

Gwaine groaned and scratched the back of his head blearily. What _was _that horrific sound? It was a deep, rumbling snort – rather like a congested pig – that seemed to shake the rough-cut tabletop under his cheek.

Prying one eye gingerly open, Gwaine surveyed his surroundings lazily – moving nothing save his left eyeball. What he saw was not at all unfamiliar – tarnished lanterns hanging from smoke-stained rafters over a well-worn counter and several kegs of different alcoholic beverages, some of the taps still dripping from the bustle of last night's business. Observing in this way, he soon pinpointed the source of the horrendous rumbling in the form of a haggish Roma woman two tables over from him. She had clearly been deep in the cups last night and Gwaine did not envy her the hangover that would undoubtedly soon be raging behind that warty nose.

Sitting up gingerly and rolling his neck to realign the joints – sleeping at a table really didn't agree with his vertebrae – Gwaine got to his feet and shuffled over to the fireplace.

* * *

**TBC...**


	15. A Heart-To-Heart Won't Kill You

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* * *

"Arthur?" Merlin ventured as the prince stabbed at their small fire with a stick. "Are you all right?"

Arthur only grunted out a terse, "I'm fine," before spearing a hapless acorn and tossing it into the fire. Merlin reckoned that he should know better than to persist when Arthur was in one of his moods – but the young warlock could not help himself.

"Arthur – I'm being serious, for once. Something's bothering you. What is it?"

"None of your business."

"Sure it is. When my friend – "

"You're my servant."

" – master, then." Merlin went on persistently. "Whenever he goes around with a face like soggy bread I make it my business to help right whatever's wrong."

In spite of himself, a reluctant smile quirked Arthur's lips. "Soggy bread, Merlin?" He said – making an attempt to redirect the conversation. "Was that the best you could come up with?"

Merlin glared and cleared his throat. "Yes, it would appear that way. But my incredible wit is not what's bothering you – I'm sure. So what is it?"

* * *

**TBC...**


	16. Uther's Zeal Has Turned To Madness

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* * *

Merlin scowled into his lumpy, swiftly cooling porridge in an effort to keep the ache in his chest at bay. He wished more then anything that he could seek Gaius' council (transportation spells were notoriously tricky, after all, even if one had a crystal to focus them…which Merlin did not) but more so even then that, he wished that he could give his mentor a proper goodbye. Arthur would have called it silly and sentimental to get all teary inside at the thought of leaving like this, but Merlin would rather go into the uncertainty of tomorrow knowing he had expressed to Gaius all that the old man meant to him – just in case something went wrong.

But Merlin knew better. He knew perfectly well that if Gaius were to get wind of what he was planning to do then he would swiftly find himself locked in his room. It wasn't that Gaius _wanted_ Arthur to die – quite the contrary – but he wanted Merlin to die even less and so would undoubtedly object to the warlock's desperate plan until it was too late.

No. In the long run it would be better this way. So, much as it pained him to do so, when Gaius returned from another fruitless plea to Uther, Merlin sat through the older man's heartbroken report and subsequent comforting in miserable silence.

Uther was mad; that was the only explanation. His love of his son had mingled with his hatred of magic and driven him out of his mind. Why else would he be set to burn his only child alive? Did he truly think that this was the only way to purge the evil from Arthur's soul? This was a nightmare!

The next day dawned all too quickly for the tense young warlock. Today was it. This very morning Arthur Pendragon was doomed to burn. This morning was when his plan had to work – or else he would perish with his master.

* * *

**TBC...**


	17. A Different Pendragon Alters The Legend

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* * *

"What is your name?" Arthur crouched down in front of the druid boy who shrank back in fear, looking in confusion from the prince to Merlin.

_ "Emrys?"_ He spoke in Merlin's mind. _"What's going on?"_ It was painfully clear that he did not trust Arthur and that was going to be a huge hamper in their plans, though Merlin could certainly understand why a druid child wouldn't want to reveal anything to the son of Uther Pendragon.

Still, though, the seconds were ticking by and Arthur was getting visibly impatient, despite his attempts to be soothing and calm. Merlin reached out with his mind and tried to reassure the boy. _"He's on our side and he wants to help – you have no need to fear him. Please, tell him your name."_

And, at last, the boy spoke aloud – even if it was in an almost-whisper. "My name is Mordred, son of Halbard, my lords."

Arthur barked out a laugh that made Mordred jump and lean away again. Merlin cursed silently as Arthur scoffed aloud. "I'm the only lord here, Mordred. Merlin here is my manservant."

"Merlin?" Mordred frowned, avoiding making any sort of eye contact with the prince. "No, his name is Emrys."

Arthur turned to Merlin while the warlock in question looked back and shrugged – just as confused as the prince was. "I'm pretty sure my mother has always said my name is 'Merlin', sire." He said. "So you'll have to take the issue up with her."

* * *

**TBC...**


End file.
